


Body Electric

by Siria



Series: Nantucket AU [71]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Challenge: Porn Battle V, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-16
Updated: 2008-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lightbulb goes—blows up, really, in a little shower of over-heated glass—while John's taking a nap, Rodney sitting up in bed next to him, glasses on while he reads through a an article he's peer-reviewing for Zelenka, red pen at the ready.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body Electric

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle V.

The lightbulb goes—blows up, really, in a little shower of over-heated glass—while John's taking a nap, Rodney sitting up in bed next to him, glasses on while he reads through a an article he's peer-reviewing for Zelenka, red pen at the ready. The bedroom goes dark suddenly and completely; John has to grope in the night-stand for a flashlight before padding gingerly downstairs to get a spare bulb, stepladder and a sweeping brush, hoping he won't encounter any glass with his bare feet.

When he comes back, Rodney won't let him change the bulb himself, yammering on about safety codes, faulty 1930s wiring, a wooden death trap of a house. He grabs the ladder from John and replaces the light bulb himself, before moving the ladder over to the corner where the attic entrance is. Rodney grunts as he pushes the cover off, then sticks his head up there, telling John that he's going to look at the fuse boxes which are—somewhat inconveniently—located up there, to see what the problem is this time.

John lies back on the bed and watches him, lazily—at Rodney's bare toes curling around the rungs of the ladder, the tight curve of his ass in his striped pyjama pants, at his broad shoulders stretching out the grey cotton of his t-shirt as he shifts and turns. Nice.

"Hey, Rodney," he says, running one hand down his own belly, liking the trail of warmth it leaves behind. Rodney acknowledges him with a muffled grunt. "Guess this solves that old question." He lies there and waits; he knows that'll get Rodney curious enough to acknowledge him; it never takes long.

"What?" Rodney snaps, voice echoing through wood and plaster before he pokes his head down out of the attic and glares at John. His hair is dishevelled, and there's a cobweb sticking to it. "_What_ question?"

John puts on his best look of unconcerned innocence, the one developed in school and perfected in basic training, before he'd decided insolence would serve him better. "How many Canadian astrophysicists does it take to change a lightbulb?"

Rodney rolls his eyes and flips him the bird before disappearing back into the attic; John har har hars softly to himself. Overhead, he can hear muffled thumps and thuds, and an isolated yelp, which means Rodney must have fallen back on the time-honoured problem-solving method of "If you don't know how, just hit it and hope."

John's seen Rodney do this a time or two before; this could take hours, and he just wants to go back to bed. He rolls to his feet and pads across the floor, wrapping his arms around Rodney's waist and pressing his cheek against the curve of Rodney's spine. "Rodney," John says, injecting just enough whine into his voice to irritate, but not enough to piss Rodney off completely. "Come back to bed."

"Mmmpfh," Rodney grunts, "Working"; but when John tightens his grip around Rodney's waist, mouths at the jut of his hip through threadbare cotton and lets his teeth graze there, just a little, he can feel Rodney harden slowly against the inside of his arm.

"Rodney," John says again, slipping one hand down the front of Rodney's pyjamas, and oh yeah, Rodney's right there, hard and hot and perfect in his hand, and John can feel how the ladder's shaking minutely beneath them.

"There are over forty thousand home accidents each year involving ladders," Rodney says, voice shaking a little, and his hands come down to grip the top of the ladder, white-knuckled.

John ignores him; he strokes Rodney's cock and squeezes once, twice, twists his hand a little when he reaches the head, and...

"Fine, fine," Rodney says, pulling John's hand out of his pants and climbing down the ladder. He sounds as irritated as if he's just given in and agreed to help Ronon with this year's high school musical, rather than agreeing to a round of what John hopes will be spectacularly sticky sex. "But if the fuse box blows in the middle of the night, you'll—"

"Shh," John says against his mouth, "It'll be there in the morning"; "Shh," John whispers against the soft curve of Rodney's belly, because they'll both be there in the morning; and this time, when Rodney's hand slaps once, twice, against the wall, searching blindly for the switch before he finally turns the light off, the darkness is welcome and wanted, blanketing them both.


End file.
